


It Takes An Ocean Not to Break

by kataurah



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Missing Scene, Romance, Season/Series 10, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24270049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kataurah/pseuds/kataurah
Summary: He’d already known this whole sailing thing wasn’t for him before he’d even taken a step off dry land - had said as much after all - and being out on the water hasn’t changed his mind. But damned if he could ever really refuse Carol anything if she wanted it bad enough.Post-10x01 fic in which Daryl takes Carol up on her offer to take a trip out on the boat with her.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Kudos: 31





	It Takes An Ocean Not to Break

**Author's Note:**

> Written post 10x01, cross posted at Nine Lives.

He’d already known this whole sailing thing wasn’t for him before he’d even taken a step off dry land - had said as much after all - and being out on the water hasn’t changed his mind. But damned if he could ever really refuse Carol anything if she wanted it bad enough. 

Not that the water is the problem; spring is fast turning into summer again and when the sun shines brightly overhead the sea is a deep, clear blue, glistening like diamonds and stretching out towards the horizon without another soul - or walker - in sight. He can see why Carol likes being out here. It’s peaceful. This, at least, remains unchanged. 

Not that Daryl had ever set foot on an actual sailing boat before now, but he’d seen one or two things on the Discovery channel before the Turn, and he likes the idea of an entire world beneath the waves just carrying on the same, like the world never ended. 

He mentions this to Carol on their second day out, because he knows she’ll listen, and the worry he might have felt once over possibly embarrassing himself has long fallen away when it comes to her. He can be himself and speak his mind, and Carol may tease him on occasion, but it’s full of affection, could never be mocking or cruel. 

She hums in consideration, peering over the railing where they lean side by side as though she can see into the depths beneath them. “Sharks are supposed to be millions of years old.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm. Older than the dinosaurs, even. The world might end, over and over. They adapt, they change. They just keep going forward, never stopping.” 

Daryl takes in her words, watches her as she gazes out ahead now, her hair fluttering softly in the breeze, silver strands catching in the sunlight; she and looks and sounds almost wistful. 

“Guess I got a whole new respect for sharks.” 

She huffs a little laugh and smiles that smile he likes to think of as his: genuine and playful, the corners of her eyes crinkling. She nudges his shoulder with her own, then leaves it there, and Daryl takes comfort in that warm contact. Proof that she’s real and he’s here with her. That she wants him here. 

“You should.”

* * *

She’d been right, there’s enough hard work to keep him occupied and not going entirely stir crazy, but he still can’t help that entirely expected feeling of being trapped. He figures it could be worse: of all the people he could be stuck with on this rust bucket, Carol is by far the best option. 

There are two other women from Oceanside on board who seem perfectly happy to let him do his own thing, and if they need to talk, Daryl lets Carol speak on behalf of both of them. It’s not that he doesn’t like them, in fact he appreciates that they don’t feel the need to fill the silence with the kind of small talk he’s shit at and always fills him with the urge to flee. Especially since there’s no where to run. It’s just that, other than using this opportunity to spend time with Carol, he doesn’t really want to be here, and he doesn’t want to take it out on anyone but himself. 

They must wonder why he’s here... or (more likely) they’ve already figured out that their shipmate has him wrapped entirely around her little finger. Perhaps Daryl should care, perhaps he should feel self conscious about being so obvious, but honestly he’s done pretending that he doesn’t want to keep her close. To be as close to her as she’ll allow. 

This certainly counts. 

The night sea breeze is gentle but cold enough that, for now, he is the only person still on deck, not having sought out the warmth and shelter within the cabins. Daryl will easily take a little exposure to the elements over the feeling of confinement in those tiny rooms, besides the tang of salt in the air and the clear - almost sharp - shining light of the moon and stars overheard feel soothing to him. It feels... pure. 

He’s lying on his back with one arm behind his head, listening to the waves and the subtle creak of the decking with each rhythmic movement of the boat, when he hears her footsteps (because he knows the sound of _hers_ specifically by heart) approaching softly. He cranes his neck just enough to watch Carol shuffle into view, a worn blanket wrapped around her, before she lowers herself down next to him, curled slightly onto her side towards him. 

“Hey, you.” The softness and affection he’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining in that simple greeting is enough to prompt a warming flutter in his stomach and, wow, he really has it bad, doesn’t he? 

Daryl turns to look at her, and that makes it both ten times better and worse at the same time. 

“Hey.” 

Her face is less an a foot away, bathed in moonlight in a way that catches the silver in her hair and brings out the crystal blue of her eyes as she gazes at him; she looks beautiful, ethereal, and it makes his chest tighten as though his heart is stumbling over itself. Then she shivers a little, hitches her knees up closer to her body and pouts in a way that’s frankly adorable, but makes him frown. 

“Should go back inside, that blanket ain’t gonna be warm enough.” 

“But you’re not in there. And I can breathe out here,” She takes a deep breath as if to prove her point and, feeling the exact same way, he can’t really argue with her. “Besides, can’t you keep me warm?” 

There’s a glint in her eye and an impish smile on her face that he hasn’t seen in longer than he wants to contemplate but is so damn happy to see now that he finds himself smirking back. The fluttering inside him spreads into a familiar warmth but he isn’t as flustered at her words as he once would have been, instead feeling comfortable enough to give in to what he’d been thinking about doing anyway. He huffs and rolls his eyes a little in feigned exasperation then lifts his arm in invitation,

“C’mere, then.” 

The playful look on her face softens with pure affection, and it’s this that has him breaking eye contact because it’s too much. He’s never been able to handle her looking at him like he makes everything better just by being, not since he spent his life before the Turn being looked at like he was dog shit to be scraped off the bottom of other people’s shoes. She was the first to believe in him and if he’s honest with himself (and he is; there’s little room left for self-denial once you’ve spent several years out in the woods with, for the most part, only a dog and your own thoughts for company) he was hers from the moment she first gave him that look. 

The feeling of her in his arms is a blessedly familiar thing by now, the warmth of her pressed along his side as she snuggles closer, and, as always, Daryl marvels that she seeks him out so easily - _happily_ \- that she might be as soothed by his touch as he is by hers. Carol settles with her head resting on his shoulder, a hand on his chest clutching her blanket and, as a result, draping it partially over him too. He hears and feels her sigh deeply.

“How much do you hate it here?” 

Gone is the lightness and the teasing from a moment ago, now she just sounds tired and sad and weighed down in a way he’d hoped he might be able to ease when he came out here with her. And even if it turned out he couldn’t help her carry that load, he’d hoped she might finally give him at least the chance to _try_. 

He gives her a squeeze, considers telling her that he couldn’t possibly hate anywhere if she was there with him. “Nah, don’t hate it. Been in worse places.” 

She snorts just a little, unamused, “I don’t think that’s the ringing endorsement you seem to think it is.” 

His lips curl at the edges of their own accord, as they so often do in reaction to her; he wonders if she’s even aware of this power that she has, to make him unselfconscious around her, happy, for the only time in his life, to just be himself. 

Still, he considers his reply. 

“S’like I said to you before: don’t like that there’s no where to go. We’re stuck on here and there ain’t enough space.” She draws a breath as if to speak so he forges ahead, “But I like being out here.” He attempts to gesture with his free hand, waves at the expanse of the ocean around them, the blanket of the night sky above. “I get why _you_ like it, the peace and quiet. I guess it’s the same for me, being in the woods.” 

He can understand that need for solitude, to retreat to nature, and he knows he’s being selfish in asking her to come home when he spent so long hiding away himself, chasing ghosts, unable to adjust to a reality he’d rather not face. 

Carol hums in what sounds like agreement, though distracted, and when she speaks her voice is quiet, distant, like she’s shrunk into herself:

“I like the sound of the sea. It sort of becomes like... white noise? I can work and let it drown out... well, everything else.” 

Daryl can’t stop the irrational stab of panic he feels at her uttering the word “drown” when such a thing would currently be far too easy for her. Anxiety pushes the thought further: of her letting herself be swept under and away, and even though that’s not her, not really, her state of mind at the moment still makes the possibility terrifyingly real. 

Perhaps he took a sharp breath, or Carol can feel his heart thudding away where her hand still rests on his chest, that is until she slides it further along his torso and squeezes, perhaps not knowing exactly where his thoughts have wandered, but sensing his worry nonetheless. 

“Hey, I’m good right now. Just… like this. This helps, you being here.” 

Daryl allows himself to breathe; knowing that makes it all worth it. He’d endure far worse discomfort and pain if there was the slightest chance of easing hers. 

“Good,” He murmurs. Then, after a pause of consideration: “Maybe come home with me, then?” 

“Why, Daryl Dixon,” She teases, immediately, “That sounds like a proposition!” 

“Stop,” His reply is an automatic reflex, “You know what I mean.” 

She sombers, and her sigh seems soul-weary, “I know.” 

The idea of leaving with Carol tempts him, of course. The call of the open road, unshackled by responsibilities and the new society they’ve built. But Daryl can’t escape the fact that he does have responsibilities, people who look to him, loyalties he feels besides that which he feels for her, as overwhelming as that is. 

_Stay with me_ , he wants to say, _be with me_ , but he’s still too afraid of losing her altogether to give voice to these thoughts. 

“I know you’re running…” He begins, and it’s only because he’s so in tune with her that he feels Carol tense ever so slightly. “That you don’t wanna feel any of it. And I get it, I do. But you told me once that I had to. Feel it. And you were right.” He closes his eyes and feels the phantom press of her lips on his forehead and so turns his head to return the gesture, brushing a kiss to her hairline and whispering words of affirmation into her skin. “You don’t have to do it alone. Wherever you are, I’ll be there too.” 

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and her tears are silent but Daryl can hear them nonetheless. 

“I feel like…” Her voice cracks and with it his heart. “... if I don’t stop moving I’ll die.”

He turns towards her fully at that and pulls her into the cradle of his body, closing his eyes against the hot prickle behind them. 

“You won’t. I won’t let you.” 


End file.
